Warhammer 40,000 Chaos Good Harvests and Bad Seeds
by Iskarott
Summary: The people of the agriculture planet of Isipros toil endlessly in the fields beneath a blazing hot sun to supply the armies of Imperium. The only respite they receive is in the blessed word of the Emperor and the work of his servants. But when heresy threatens the world, Preacher Thomas Abbotsford finds his faith and soul threatened as well, as he realizes where his true faith lies
1. Chapter 1

_**Planet Name**__: Imperial World of Isipros_

_**Solar System: **__Perdore _

_**Designation: **__Agricultural Planet_

_**Tithe Grade:**__ Exactus Minimus_

_**Population: **__3 million humans and ab-humans. Unknown Mutant population._

_**Government Type**__: Hereditary Governorship_

_**Description in the Imperium Locaticum Agriculta: Electissimas Farinam: Simplex Planetarum**_

The Imperial World of Isipros is a small agricultural world located in the Perdore system. It is the third planet from its sun Coleagri and it is orbited by a single moon known as Hartuna. Its proximity to the sun provides its surface with the optimal levels of heat and sunlight for growing crops year round. This is complemented by a humid atmosphere and large quantities of underground fresh water for irrigation. It supplies the Imperium with numerous unprocessed food goods. Grox are raised here in great herds, as are the native grains Astha and Athsa grown. A specialty of the planet is the Lumia root, which is completely edible if phosphorescent. When eaten raw it glows bright enough that it is visible in the stomach and entrails in the dark. The planet is divided into small settlements of 20,000 to 100,000 people. Each settlement is ring shaped. Each is centered around a shrine to the emperor, then mercantile and administrative district, the large tenement blocks and apartments where farmers and workers live, and finally fields and livestock farms extend in the outer ring until they meet another settlement. The capital is St. Sarrensberg, which has a population of 250,000 and houses the current Planetary Governor, Her Ladyship Samantha Grandtill. Her family has overseen the welfare of Isipros for nearly 25 generations and has provided stable if moderate tithes during that period. Almost all citizens of the planet are either farmers or aid in the collection of goods for the Imperium. The planet possesses no active military, but each farmer is expected to own a shotgun or stub rifle so they can called to form a militia on demand

**Decretum Sacerdotii**

**Nomen: **Thomas Abbotsford

**Aetas: **XXVII

**Incunabulum: **Sancta Civitate Myra on Sacrarium Mundus Aquinas II

**Natalis: **3450-M41

**Status: **Plebeius

**Dos:** Humilis

**Divisionem: **Sacerdos Ministorum

**Dignationem: **Evangelista

**Parochia: **Grettelute, Isipros de Perdore system in Crucis sector

**Dies: **V

**Commentarium**

_Brother Thomas Abbotsford has been tested at a high level intelligentia but is within the normalis spectrum, and has received a centum point average in his Theologica Academicum. His martia and physica grading is below average and insufficient for Pugna Officium. His Dos and the results of his psychologica experior make him an unacceptable Ambitor for a Primiceriatus position despite leading his class in the Dictata Oratio. His inability to __Canalis Veritatem Fides de Imperatore__ and his Voluntas restricts him from duties requiring such skill. It is therefore the Decretum of this Officium that he be placed in a Minorem Positio on a Parvus Mundus. There he may serve the Emperor by inspiring the faithful in their toils and hardships to produce useful goods and remain faithful. His minder should be aware his weakness are predicted to be in his love of knowledge and a mind above his station.. He should be watched for signs of consulting forbidden and heretical works, as this is where his falling is most likely. He is best punished through shame and reminder of his failures, and while it should be used sparingly, physical punishment may be used effectively due to his physical fragility. __Benedicat Nos Deus Hominis._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

Hartuna hung in the sky like a winking eye against the cold black void. The same sunlight which allowed the planet to be so prosperous caused the entire world to be bathed in a dim chalky light even during the darkest nights. The silent world below the bell tower had all the charm and contrast of a charcoal sketch, as thick inky pools of shadow pushed against pale grey cement and dull shimmering steel. As he watched over the city he kept righteous and pure, the preacher clutched the pendant around his neck. A glimmering silver icon bearing the symbol of the Ecclesiarchy. And then a vial of water bound in twine, once blessed snow from his homeworld. Gathered from the "Hallowed Whisper" plains of the Aquinas II, it had melted quickly beneath the sun of Ispros. At the time, with sardonic humor he had accepted holy water as likely being better than holy ice in the hierarchy of relics and quelled his disappointment. But now he engaged it with a different emotion, bringing it to his whispering lips he offered a hushed prayer to the God Emperor to watch over the souls of those who slept. For the forces of darkness are so foul that they invade the dreams of the pious so they may twist their thoughts and deal them the agony of sleep without rest.

As he pulled on the thick bell rope knotted and frayed with time, ringing out the hour of midnight to those still awake so they may offer their love to the Emperor, he recalled the many other ways that evil enters the heart and stops this love. It was not just wicked curses invoked through the murder, corruption, and torture of the virtuous and good that twisted flesh and mind. The serpents tongue and deceivers words possessed many of the fallen's mouths without a Daemon's help. And even what appears as pious doubt can be the few insidious words that break another's faith. What of the Martyr Azamaz of Imult? The tragic priest who believed he could reform the mutant and by purifying their souls, purifying their corruptions. Under the auspices of that reform, he asked the foul to partner with one of the unblemished, so they might be better saved by example. Only too late did he find his congregation could no longer be told from the mutant. Only by burning himself, the now tainted church, and the warp-touched within it that he was able to redeem himself and them through this act of martyrship.

He had read these stories dozens of times from the decrepit copy of Confessiones Hereticus kept in the small library of the parish. The Dictionnaire Infernal, Compiled Folklore and Common stories of the Imperium, and Doctrina Perversio. He had read them so many times that he knew their pages better than many men know their lover's body. Even the newest book in the collection was at least a hundred years old. He'd even mastered the three thousand page Collatis Sacra Scriptura, and had read it cover to cover twice alone. Not counting the constant readings and research required by the worldly side of his position. The simple leather shoes of a Priest squeeked softly as he made his way down the spiraling stone steps, their crumbling edges showing the weight of ages of use and bare bones upkeep. His hand ran along the smooth stone wall to guide himself as he held a dull iron candelabra in the other. Weak green orbs of flame clung to their wicks like specters, conjured from the wax of an otherwise inedible plant native to Isipros. They bathed what little could be seen in an unearthly hue and Thomas found the flickering shadows were always unnerving in the dark alone. It was only through stalwart prayer to the Emperor for protection that he found himself able to resist increasing his pace.

The Sancturia was crowded with candle holders of copper, brass, and iron while every stone nook and cranny in the surrounding architecture overflowed with dripping wax from candles placed there. These used the same wax as Thomas' candles, so that the entire room was filled with a brilliant emerald light that glistened majestically off polished metals. The Long Vigil of the Emperor's Faithful required them to create this scene every night using. Each candle was lit using a sacred flame at the end of a ceremonial blade. This represented the eternal light of the emperor overcoming darkness through his glory and might. When new to his rank and post Thomas had found the whole affair did have a certain majesty and hope, but a thousand repetitions had made it more of a household chore than active communion. His head dropped low in near automated reverence and he offered a holy verse to the three foot tall Emperor Idol placed on the altar.

"_Sanctificetur Imperatore, Tua Micans nitore consumet omnia tenebris" _(Hallowed Emperor, May your radiance consume all darkness)

The Idol had its back to the congregation as if it were looking into the future, and his eyes were cast upwards as if seeking something in the stars. The icon had been crafted nearly 700 years ago by one of the greatest artist that the small agricultural world had ever produced. Like most artists he found his patron in the Ecclesiarchy. The statue was formed from a smooth white stone and then painted in the most luxurious and rich colors. Its exquisiteness stood in proud testimony to the wealth and pride of the church. It perhaps made up slightly for it being the only object of worth in the otherwise plain church. The pews were of once roughly hewn wood worn smooth by generations of parishioners. The Electro-Choir in the corner hummed with static behind its repeated its perfectly rehearsed songs and psalms. A threadbare red carpet led from the entrance to the altar.

Compared to the ornate finery of the church, the Priest's quarters were furnished much more humbly. Bright electric lights kept the narrow hallway pragmatically lit, lined with bland paintings of religious imagery. The only thing of interest to Brother Thomas was the heavy wooden door that opened to the room given to him. It was enveloped in a sheet of darkness before he flicked on his reading lap. The room was a spartan affair with a mundane desk in one corner and an equally mundane bed in the other. There was just enough open space to conduct private prayers in the middle. But it was his, and it contained all his possessions and secrets. Secrets were the topic currently possessing the Priests mind as he pulled the top desk drawer out completely. In a hidden compartment in the back was a book and scroll case wrapped in cloth and neatly wedged together.

The book was thick and exotic. The cover of green grox leather so dark it was nearly black, reinforced with the bleached grox bone. The other was a collection of scrolls made of a thick blue paper bound in twine within a dull steel tube. The Book of Rumors and the 169 sacred numbers were both heretical texts that could quickly end his career and life.

Yet he was unable to help himself. His innate passion for knowledge and the ease with which he grasped that knowledge had assured him a position in the Ecclesiarchy. While his common birth and lack of exceptional disposition had found him rising no further than Preacher. An idle mind is more destructive than idle hands, and Brother Thomas Abbotsford found his heart throbbing in his chest as he opened the Book of Rumors. Like a child with a precious present or their favourite toy, he delicately turned the pages. Written as a series of cryptic rumors, he had settled on reading only one a day. New and enjoyable things are hard to find on a boring and out of the way world like Isipros and he wanted to savor this one for as long as possible. His thin fingers traced the ancient script as he read to himself._ "...A merchant who often travels westwards through the sheer cliffs has assured me that if one continues past them for four days and three nights they will come upon a land of flattened earth. There is no life here, and the ground is barren. Here are found dreaded Obelisk wrought by the shamans of those who lived when the world was young. It is said that those who decode their secrets will learn of ancient magic long lost, yet so dreadful that even now its presence disturbs life. Only two runes tuck in his mind and neither were from the same source.. [Drawings here].."_

Foreign and hopelessly intriguing, he committed the runes to memory as he had done so much scripture, until he found them burned on his eyelids when they closed. Woefully distracted by this practicing, Thomas was jostled and frightened when heard the next door over open and close followed by a muffled cough in the hall. Blood rushed to his head and his mouth ran dry as panic filled his heart. As quickly and quietly as he could, he returned his secret possessions to their rightful hiding spots and undressed in the same manner. As the unknown party made their journey towards the lavatories, Thomas blew out the lights and lay beneath his thin covers, filled with fear and guilt over his nocturnal practices. As adrenaline faded, he quickly drifted to sleep. Yet his dreams were alive with strange obsidian obelisk under an alien sun, inscribed with archaic burning runes. And creatures as strange as they were wondrous danced and prayed before them, reciting songs that were always so distant he could not hear them. So that when he woke up the next morning, he fell to his knees in prayer to the Emperor for his wicked dreams. As he prayed for forgiveness of this great shame and his forbidden interests, he admonished himself further for secretly enjoying them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2**

The six preachers of the Sacred Church of the Divine Emperor convened at 07:15 terrestrial hours as they did every morning. Including Thomas there five others devoted to maintaining the "Sacred Church of Divine Emperor" and its holdings. Peter, Samuel, Jango, Ricardo, and Moses. Moses was the eldest, the most important, and therefore the rightful leader. His thick grey beard formed a halo around his wrinkled and wizened face, and complimented his shining bald head. Though he technically shared the same rank as the others, his experience and reputation were without question. Sitting next with him with a scarred face and dusky skin was the once space pirate Brother Ricardo. The sinewy holy man often seemed too rough and handsome for the monastic life. Moses had nursed him back to health after an unspoken of incident, and he forsook his past on the spot. His faith had never wavered since. Samuel and Peter were as devout and dedicated as one could ask, if unexceptional. Their flaws being the quite literal interpretations of their translations, and the orthodoxy of their beliefs. Thomas had spent many hours debating theology with them and found them well read and learned, but poor debaters. They were too intolerable of differences of opinion to discuss the deeper issues of theological difference.

Jango was the son of the mayor of Grettelute,`a minor noble connected to a leading house on the planet. His father was strict and just, and had attempted to instill the same values into Jango. But Jango was all too aware of the power he wielded over commoners, and had led a life exemplary of the corruption found in noble houses. This had led to a number of shameful incidents which eventually provoked punishment. As penance for his (caught) depravity and debauchery, Jango was inducted into the priesthood to avoid penal punishment. He made for a poor fit and was the constant ire of Moses, as the power he wielded was second only to his. Their characters were vastly opposite, and while Moses was the model of a saint, Jango was only satisfied as a a condemner. If he wasn't damning the poor workers of Isipros, he was squeezing their pockets of contributions, or in rare instances, practically falling over himself to lord over the executions of the Mutant, the Heretic, and the Xenos.

As Moses extinguished the candles which held vigil over the night, the others chanted harmonious prayers to their emperor facing the rising sun. They pleaded for the endeavours of their flock to be successful and for all to remain virtuous in the eyes of the God Emperor. As soon as the spiritual work ended, the worldly work began. They set about preparing for morning mass, as soon the pews would be full of the faithful asking that they toil not in waste and find happiness in the Emperor's work. Aisles were swept and wax scratched from the floor. Pews were washed and the stained glass windows wiped of grim and dust. Scenes of worship and salvation grew luminous and bathed the room in rich and gorgeous colours was the sun rose, clashing with the modern electric lights which illuminated the rest of the room.

Like everyday before and likely after, the five and ever slacking Jango showed their piousness and humility with janitorial upkeep duties. They did so before cleaning themselves, as to show they put themselves second to spirituality. It was also pragmatic, as the muggy sub-tropical heat that granted the planet such fertility left them sweaty and grimy after their work. The point of the task was to suffer as much as clean, Thomas decided, why else would it be that only after the work was done did they turn on the air conditioning system? As the Preacher signed his name in the Libra Laboris to record his completion of the first of his daily duties, cool air rushed through the building with a quiet whirring, answering his summons. The workers were well used to its mediterranean climate. Instead it made their mandatory daily prayers more memorable and pleasurable, a few moments in heaven against the purgatorial drudgery of their lives.

Most of them were farmers and their families who had no other access to temperature controlled environments. They built their houses out of heat-resistant materials and cooled themselves with fans. The luckiest could afford EverIce modules which radiated cold in reverse of a heater.. The Adeptus Administratum members who collected and transported tithes preferred to remain separate from them. Most members came from the noble families of the planet as outside of the clergy or military service, they were the only positions that kept out the fields. They wandered about the administrative districts in pristine brightly colored robes robes carrying small fashionable personal cooling devices. The devices spun in hypnotic patterns, both circulating the air around them and serving as a parasol. They wrinkled their noses as they past the working class, usually making some off handed comment about the stink of sweat or the fields as they hurried on their way.

After the daily cleansing and purification of mind, body, and possessions came the morning sermon. The chapel increasingly filled with ambient murmuring of worshipers in the background as they trickled in. When all was settled, Moses entered to lead the procession to the music of the Electro-Choir as he always did. The others played the remaining parts but Moses would always lead unless otherwise indisposed. Then two of the Preachers would give sermons. One of hope, one of damnation. After these were completed, two more would act out the holy rituals of the day. Amongst this, the errant brother tasked with ringing the bell to announce the service would appear. He would begin to shuffle among the pews in quiet prayer, offering them the collection box. In whispered piety he reminded them that the faithful support the church. That the war was as material as it was spiritual and could not be fought on god will alone. The Emperor survived by his throne in more way that one, Thomas had often thought. Today our chosen brother was delivering a sermon on damnation.

The Preachers designated to the days sermons would be commissioned the day before, and would spend the previous night writing and researching their sermon from holy scripture and lore. Of the many mundane tasks given to him, this was one of the few places that Thomas' wit and cunning found expression. With a touch of flamboyance and a great deal of rhetoric, he spun fantastical stories that enraptured the audience. He always seemed to know the right verse or passage to match the event. So it was today, as he found release by muddling his previous work with the dream of last night, capturing the crowd in a rhythmic lull before bring it crashing down on their consciences. As soon as he found their attention peaked, he damned them, and in quiet himself for being so fascinated with the allusions and incredible nature of his sermon. For these were the faces of evil and heresy, not the pure images and virtuous faces of good. They brought sin and debauchery, so that men lost all sense of just and logic, and women were overcome with lust and wrath.

He called upon the visions of St. Anthony, who had described the resplendent and hallowed visions of his many prophetic dreams. He berated them for not using it as a standard by which to judge their own dreams, and suggested they meditate upon the purity of their thoughts and dreams. That only by devotion and prayer to the Emperor, especially just before rest, could they prevent such blasphemy from entering their minds. A tinge of guilt tickled his stomach as he told those who still felt shame to confess their sins and offer services or donations to the church as penance. Exploitive techniques bothered him, and when he had first come to the Parish he had tried to leave such matters to the conscience of his followers. But a quiet and firm lecture from Moses behind closed doors had reminded him of the financial nature of their fight and the suspicions the church had of those who do not accept that.

His work done, Thomas retreated into the background to assist Brother Peter and Brother Samuel in their ornate prayers and rituals. All he had to do now was to echo certain parts of the prayer, and five years of practice had rendered the entire routine automatic. Earnest and god fearing, the people of Isipros were easy prey for such techniques, and his shame was tempered with a degree of pride as several hands competed to donate first. Turning to the statue of the Emperor upon the Altar, he apologized for his methods but asked the Emperor understand the reasoning, as they attempted to follow he turned back towards the masses, he found them filtering out of the room. Jango stepped forward with the contribution box, his brutish yet refined features alight as he grinned and jostled the thrones loudly. "Brother Thomas. As always, your sermon has advanced our cause and dispelled some of the blighted ignorance that grips our flock." Thomas gave a polite and pleasant smile as he grimaced behind his mask, Jango's compliments making him feel even more like a thief. "Thank you, Brother Jango. I live to serve the Emperor and his cause._ Benedicat Nos Deus Hominis_" came his calm if emotionless reply. Jango continued to leer at him greedily before turning his attention back to the box of thrones. As he walked away to deal with the book keeping, his assigned job, he let the coins jostle loudly as if the sound were as pleasant as the holy verse.

Moses finished with his short pronouncements to the congregation, and as they hurried out of the Church to reach the buses and trucks to the fields on time, the head Preacher turned to his followers. "Brothers. Your service to the Emperor is as devout as any men I have known, and I could not ask for more hallowed company. _Benedicat Nos Deus Hominis." _

Moses addressed Brothers Simon and Peter first, his stately continence held high. "Brothers. I require you to aid in the rites of Osmonde Greywheat. He lies on his deathbed unable to join us, yet his soul must be assured guidance to the Emperor." Moses turned to the remaining two priests, Brother Thomas and Brother Ricardo. "Brothers. You shall assume field rites today." Jango was exempt from such hard work due to his blood, and Moses had grown too old and regal for the jobs. Instead Field Rites and other outside duties were divided between the four able bodied Brothers. It consisted of all the basic priestly footwork. The Preachers would wander about the fields to counsel those who need it, blessing fields and equipment, and keep a watchful eye on the flock for signs of Heresy or Mutation.

Brother Moses gave a quiet blessing to Ricardo and Thomas before entering into quiet council with Brother Peter and Brother Simon. Brother Ricardo offered a placating smile to Brother Thomas. "At least we don't ever have to worry about being shot at." He rubbed a scar playfully and Brother Thomas offered him a well earned smile. Of all those in the group, Thomas felt that Ricardo was the one he was closest too. The rough and tumble pirate turned Preacher respected Thomas' knowledge. And Thomas found his worldliness and vitality enviable. While they both has presence, Thomas was of a more holy and ascetic aura. Ricardo radiated an air of compassion and strength which put all those around him at ease and safety.

"I wouldn't be so sure Brother Ricardo. Do you remember the Heretic Clavis?" Clavis had been a middle aged man and one of the few heretics to be charged recently. He had built a ten barreled stub gun mounted on a cart covered with Grox skulls and attempted to wage war on the church. Ricardo laughed this time at the bitter sweet memory, and patting the frailer priest on the shoulder, preparing for a day in the hot sun. They both savored the time they had left in the crisp atmosphere of the air conditioned Church. The Preachers bedrooms were across from each other, each in the middle. Thomas resided in the middle room on the left side, and pushed the familiar wood door open, the surface worn where he always opened it.

Each priest had been issued a Type 2 Cool Device by the Ecclesiarchy in order to aid in their duties along with a pair of heavy leather work boots for the terrain. Their upkeep and cleanliness were among the duties of the Priests, and each had to be kept spotless. A heat resistant plastic pole was attached to a flat disc containing a fan at the bottom. The disc both blocked the sunlight and held a large fan attached to an Ever Ice Module. This parasol like device kept the owner moderately cool at all times, and was the same design used by Adeptus Administratum. These were coupled with a set of thermostatic water bottles to keep hydrated with. While it wasn't perfect, Thomas could not help but acknowledge he was several steps ahead of the workers. Many of the older families had developed abhuman resistance in the sun to cope and were born a dark tanned brown, while others had migrated from similar circumstance or were just tough enough to bare the heat out. Thomas' parchment white skin was a testament to the relative luxury he lived in, as was everyone but Ricardo. Which is probably why he got along so well with the farmers.

With a quiet, longing look towards his hidden treasures, he closed the door behind him. Tonight it would be the 169 sacred numbers. A book of numerological magic, it told of formula by which one could divine the nature of things by specific numbers and dates. While he didn't know if it was true, he was quite keen to find out. But that would have to wait till later. With the quiet click of a locking door, the Preacher set out to meet Ricardo at the front of the church and begin the days Field Rites.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3**

The red sun of the Perdore system had begun its ascent across the sky, and uncovered cement was already hot to the touch. It greedily hissed and sucked up any water spilt on it. The members of the Adeptus Administratum scribes and their servants darted between the shade with their cooling devices pulled close, trying to avoid any unwanted tanning or specks of dirt on their clothing. The ground was kept methodically clean by specially equipped servitors, augmented to tolerate the heat while working tirelessly beneath the nearly unbearable sun.

The Preacher didn't like the heat much better, but forced himself to remain poised and undisturbed, walking in measured stride. The Ecclesiarchy Monasteries had taught him well a large part of his position was leading by example. His flock should only be tasked with copying him, not burdened with the struggle to learn themselves and focus on their toils and work. Ricardo bore the heat with a more natural ease and hadn't even bothered to bring his cooling device, though his thermostats hung heavy and drunk at his waste. Instead he basked in the warmth as only the children of the heat can, leading his Brother through the narrow streets of Grettelute.

His shoulder length hair smooth and silky while Thomas' hair had already begin to to curl further with presperation in the humid, hot air. "So Brother, have you read anything interesting lately?" Brother Ricardo asked his more scholarly companion.

"I wish I had something new to read. " Brother Thomas lied. "I've been trying to find a bookseller for months, but I've been reduced to reading farmers almanacs and the life cycle of the Grox. Did you know that they're so aggressive and stupid "untreated" that they'll charge their own reflections in water? There have been a lot of cases of them knocking themselves unconscious on the rocks below and drowning."

"Hahaha! Thomas, I wish I had a mind like yours. Even the most boring thing becomes interesting when I have you around to talk about it."

Thomas shook his head and drew a deep drink from his thermostat as they began to exit the administrative area and into the tenements. Brightly dyed cloth tarps hung everywhere, flapping gently in the warm breeze and covering most of the walkways and balconies. They provide much needed shade from the sun while allowing the rain to drip right through them, and were a hallmark of the planets cities. "You say that but everyone thinks of you as a hero. You've fought off bandits and heretics with your bare hands, and it is alway you they come to when they need help and are afraid of Moses."

Ricardo's expression became solemn for a moment as he looked at Thomas, before bursting out into laughter again. "Brother. If you knew who you were talking to, you'd eat your words. Yes, I can fight, whether with words or with weapons." His look became solemn once more, but radiated compassion at the same time. "But Brother Thomas, you teach them things that improve their lives and bring them peace and prosperity. They may not realize it, but your Brothers do, and the Emperor most surely does." Ricardo jangled his bracelet of various shape and sizes of snub shells, each inscribed with holy scripture. It served as a sign of his commitment and the altered course of his life. " I can only dream of one day doing that."

Compassion and friendship are one of the few things that ease the burden of living the Imperium of Man during the 41st century. War and Chaos lurk everywhere. When you must be ever wary of your neighbour becoming corrupted and spreading it to your house, friendship can be hard. For a few brief moments as the men conversed on their journey, they were able to forget that the universe rested on the verge of destruction. Teetering back and forth on the edge of a knife as the Imperium desperately tried to maintain its balance against the pull of xenos, heresy, and mutants. Mutual compliments and laughter easing the burden of their rank. While their toil was less harsh than those in the fields, it often felt less honest as well. In a way Thomas wished he had been born simple and average enough that he could be happy with a life in service to the emperor and raising a family under the values of the Imperium. But his was the way of the book and the word, and he accepted reality as it was. Both Preacher did in fact, as they reached the drudging reality of the fields.

Spreading in every direction from the city gates were vast fields of pale blue Astha and golden brown Athsa honeycombed with farmers tending to them. There were also great pens of lobotomized brown-yellow grox, glazed eyes locked forward on nothing as they mindlessly chewed feed produced from the inedible (to humans) grain byproducts. In this way nothing was wasted and food was constantly produced. Unlike many worlds where starvation and poverty were rampant. Isipros men and women were often broad chested and heavy as working beasts from the large and hearty meals they ate. However, most were not literate and relied on scribes and priests to do read and write for them. From eye to eye men and women toiled to produce food for the various troops of the Empire. Proudly knowing what they grew with their own hands filled the bellies of the various heroes and heroines of the Imperial Guard. Though they did not fight themselves, they knew they were an integral part of the local supply system and were quick to remind anyone who looked down on them of it.

Criss-crossing and dividing the fields were footpaths of packed dirt, while larger cement roads for vehicles and farm equipment only ran through important areas. It was the closest of these that the Preachers moved towards. A truck was waiting for them in the shade of a large well building. The truck had been decorated with various Ecclesiarchy markings and two Archangel's Horn XIII Laud Hailers sat atop with several martial looking metal angels blowing them. Driven by an old man by the name of Sirius, who had one eye from a bandit raids decades ago, it stood out amidst all the plain functionality around it. Now in his retirement from the fields, he served as driver and bodyguard to the priests. He would bring them to various pre-assigned stops throughout the area. There they would wander about for the designated time doing their duties before moving to another. The morning sermons were recorded and played over the Laud Hailer as they travelled. In this way they got their message to everyone who "needed" it and inspired the workers with sacred words..

Sirius' tobacco laiden spit sizzled on the pavement even in the early morning sun. While as devout and pious a man one could ever find, his teeth and mouth were always stained black with chewing tobacco, and as they met as he chewed vigorously on the foul substance, "Mornin' Brothers. _Benedicat Nos Deus Hominis._". He tipped the wide brimmed straw hat perched on his head to reveal his sparsely haired head, the only protection he used against the elements."We'll be heading to the Collection Point Sigma first if you don't be mindin'. Misses Osgrox and her kin have a new Land Crawler for you to bless, and she won't be stopped in worrying about using it until then." While they lacked the ability to quell machine spirits as Adeptus Mechanicus, they could at least align them with the holy Emperor. This protected it from being inhabited by evil spirits which could cause the machine to malfunction or even attempt to injure its owners. A superstitious lot, most of the population refused to work unless their equipment was so blessed.

With curt and pious nods the Priests now assumed the reserved and dignified air of the clergy, like actors in a play stepping onto the stage. With an unhurried gait, they took their seats behind Sirius in the vehicle. As they settled into the thickly padded seats, they gave the solemn prayers that begin the ritual of field rites while their driver started up their vehicle. In a few minutes they began on their way. The wheels jostled loudly against the gravel roads used by the farmers and Sirius' was a talkative man, so the that the space not filled with hissing and crunching of stone was taken over by his coarse yet wet voice.

"Folks have been seein' a lot of strange fires in the hills at night." The one eyed man started. "Been hearing more and more people claiming they've been seeing ghosts too. Strange shadows moving around at night. But you know how it is Brothers. Everyones been spooked since we heard about Calixamis." Caliximas had been a planet a few systems away that had recently fallen to the ruinous powers and had to be purged of all life for the sake of the Empire. "Most of us had a friend or knew someone with a friend or relative from there. So they got whiff of some of the rumors floatin' around and they've been spreading like a fire in a byproduct silo." He glanced back at the two priests who listened in relative silence and tipped his hat again. "I'm thinkin' that you've got your work cut out for you keepin' their heads straight and silencing idle tongues, Brothers. Pardon my saying so." Ricardo offered a reassuring grin, and Thomas gave an appreciative tip of the head to Sirius. The old farmer served as a valuable liaison to the farmers and an able bodyguard given the relative safety of the planet. Stub gun wielding bandits and the occasional space pirate desperate for supplies was the worse they'd ever seen. Sirius wore Adeptus Ministorum modified Imperial Guard flak armor. "Don't be worrying about anything though, Brothers. I say its just superstition and foolish gossip you'll easily clear away. The worst we've ever got is a couple of mutants with pitchforks and stubbies, and I'll take care of them." Sirius patted the imperial pattern laspistol slung over his shoulder and over his breast. It accompanied the armor in overwhelming force. At least compared to the mutants and heretics of this planet. Sirius turnined his attention back to driving, humming a holy hymn under his breath as he did.

Sirius' duties meant that he had to be inducted into the Frateris Militia. It wasn't much but it gave a small monthly stipend and an imperial pattern laspistol amd armor. The first allowed him a comfortable retirement, and the second was a mark of pride, worn openly as if they were a medal or badge. Between Sirius and Ricardo, Thomas felt confident that any heretics or mutants you'd find on Isipros would be well taken care of. He reasoned that while the entire planet was armed, they had only basic training and the best weaponry they had were stub guns made by local smiths complemented by improvised weapons converted from farm tools, and a leather armor reinforced with metal plates. While they protected against the relatively simple and crude stub guns of the planet, a laspistol melted through them like butter, and Ricardo's martial experience meant he easily overcame such resistance.

Which was important to Thomas, as he was frankly aware of his own weakness. The Empire has been engaged in a ten thousand year long war, and even a relatively safe and unimportant planet like Isipros was one renegade space hulk away from being consumed. Even if the planet had not suffered a serious attack in millenia. His frailty and physical ineptitude had left him bullied and harassed as a child, his intellect only deepening the emotional wounds. He knew he could not contribute in a meaningful way to the war and felt a deep guilt and shame. The Emperor and his church were his salvation as a lack of aptitude towards advanced mathematics and technology left only the Ecclesiarchy.

There he had found that he had a gift for rhetoric and an innate understanding of human nature, and his knowledge and intelligence found him acceptance and even small praise. It was his lack of ambition, any skills beyond book knowledge and convincing word, and a lowly birth that doomed him to a life as a lowly preacher. He had accepted his post on Isipros with the resignation that it was likely the best way he could serve the Holy Emperor. A lifetime of service to a flock that only required him to accept the drudgery and boredom of his post. At least he was at last able to feel useful, ensuring the people of Isipros and especially Grettelute were able to supply the raw food goods needed to keep local imperial guard forces fighting. What else could he do?

His self-pity and train of thought where both interrupted as the truck ground in front of the towering metal silos and plastic transport bins where goods were stored after being collected. In the middle was a circular complex that regulated the flow of underground water to irrigation ditches. Thomas blushed realizing he had lost himself in thought and had been gazing silently out the window at the passing fields and farms for nearly the entire trip. His companions hadn't noticed or were being polite as neither mentioned it as they exited the vehicle. Composing himself as he did the same, he reminded himself that idle thoughts distracted from his hallowed purpose. With a sibilant prayer to the Emperor, he apologized for his indiscretion and rebuking himself, focused his attention on the here and now. The Emperor had no use for his past or regrets, only the future and his duty. His unhappiness was nothing compared to the sacrifices made everyday for the Empire by billions of its citizens. With a new found furor of devotion, he turned to Brother Ricardo. "We should start our work at once. These rumors must be quelled lest they linger in the mind and warp it by their sheer nature. Fear and doubt impede the work of the Emperor and we must cast them aside these distractions. His might is both spiritual and material, as his glory is reflected in the strength of the Imperium. Let us ensure it remains so, so that we do not let him down."

Thomas' oratory skills caught not only the ears of his companions, but the throng of farmers and their wives and helpers as they brought and took goods had stopped. Tractors and trucks drove past in endless cycles as streams of people like ants came back and left. The collection points served as central hubs as well as storage and during the day it was never empty. For a moment it had slowed however and those in earshot had paused to listen to the Preacher, including a Laund Hauler and a Mole Claw Ditch Digger. Then came a loud muttering of appreciative blessings and hearty agreements and as the crowd buzzed Thomas felt as if he could confront this task with greater clarity than ever. Brother Ricardo gave him an enthusiastic pat on the shoulder and his trademark grin, whispering quietly to his friend"What did I tell you? You're so hard on yourself, but when have you ever seen me stir the souls of the righteous and set them on the proper course like that? If only I had your wisdom and gift with words Thomas."

Thomas was better with humility than pride and shook his head. "How often do they confess to you problems that they would never come to me? How often have you taught them things that have improved their capacity in the mundane world?" But Ricardo would not let the matter drop with his reserved friend. "This is a war of souls, Thomas. I may be able to protect them from being taken here, but you protect them from lost faith and the darkness that brings."

His inferiority complex refused to accept victory and he settled for a truce. "Then we each play a part that is useless without the other." Ricardo had long given up fighting to compliment Thomas and accepted the victory conditions offered. Sirius had kept himself entertained conversing with an elderly man also chewing tobacco, but disengaged himself politely as the clergymen stepped forward and Ricardo asked politely to begin the tour. The ground was flat from hundreds of years of stomping boots and wet with mud tracked from the fields. While the high leather shoes and robes of a Preacher were sufficient, the hems of their robes and their boots were already caked with wet mud. Field Rites were a messy dirty business no matter how you went about it.


End file.
